


New Life

by Yoite



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Alternative Timeline, Au-esque, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Monroe struggles with reformation, Monroe wants to eat Nick, Nick doesn't know he is a Grimm, Nick is basically a male Trubel, Nickroe - Freeform, Okay it's ALSO a euphemism, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, This is not a euphemism, angsty!Monroe, bad!Monroe, hints of underage, teenage Nick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10024001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoite/pseuds/Yoite
Summary: What if Monroe met Nick when they were both at a very different stage in their lives? AU-esque.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Randomsmeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomsmeg/gifts).



> For the wonderful blutbae, because I got this idea when discussing the latest Grimm episode with her. I don't even know why. It's just a strange little bunny that I could not get rid of.

Monroe could already sense it from half a mile away: the red, heavy, delirious smell of human blood, growing more pungent with every step he took. The blutbad was diligently scanning his surroundings as he walked on, hoping to identify the source of the smell early so that he could stay the hell away. As soon as he knew it was coming from a dumpster on the corner Monroe switched to the other side of the road and kept his head down, willing his feet to keep moving. It went quite well, until it didn’t.

The blutbad let out a sigh as he stopped in his tracks and turned around. It was probably nothing. It was just an old bandage, a plaster, maybe a tampon. Only he knew it wasn’t. The blood was fresh, way too fresh, and there was a lot of it. And it came from a guy. Well, so what? It was the last thing he needed. It had only been two weeks, two long, _long_ , painful weeks, but he had managed not to slip, not once, the last thing he needed now was -

Monroe was too busy debating with himself to notice that his feet had already brought him right back to the dumpster, and then his arms joined them in their treachery.

He lifted the lid.

He dropped the lid and took a little jump backwards, nervously glancing around.

There was not a soul to be seen. Monroe cursed as he stepped closer to open the lid once again, remembering to hold his breath this time. He reached inside and pulled out a limp, scrawny shape, cautiously stretching it out on the pavement in front of him. It was a particularly dark corner of the street, but Monroe did not need the light. His nose was painting him a perfect picture.

It was just a boy, fourteen, maybe fifteen, and beaten up pretty badly. He was still unconscious, but it seemed he had not suffered any major injuries. Not that it was up to Monroe to make a diagnosis. That’s what doctors were for. He pulled out his phone to call the ambulance. He stared at it in silence for a whole minute, as if he had never seen such a thing before. Then he stuffed it back into his pocket, hauled the lifeless body onto his back and scurried the last block home.

He still had no idea what he was doing, or why, when he carefully laid the boy onto the couch in what was going to be his living room, silently congratulating himself on the fact that it was still wrapped in plastic. There were boxes everywhere. The kitchen was the only area he had managed to unpack so far. His new life had barely started, and now _this_. He was such an idiot. What was he even _doing_? What if someone had _seen_ him? But nobody knew him around here yet. He had not done anything _bad_ yet. He could still call the ambulance. He would just clean him up a little first. Or something.

Monroe went into the kitchen to fetch a bowl of water and some cotton wool before slowly crouching down in front of the couch and wiping a few strands of dark, sticky hair from the boy’s forehead to get a better look at his prey. The poor guy was awfully thin and covered in bruises and dirt and non-descript food leftovers, though something told Monroe that he must have been in quite a bad shape even before he was assaulted by God knows who. There were cuts on his face and his neck that looked suspiciously like claw marks and would have alarmed the blutbad, were he still in full possession of his mental faculties.

The smell of blood was deafening by now, echoing through the hollowness in his head like a second heartbeat. It was so sharp and sweet, more intense than any human blood he had ever smelled, or maybe it was just because he missed it so much. Maybe if he could just take a lick. A little lick wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? He brought his face closer, stretching out his tongue as his stomach convulsed in anticipation.

It was at this moment that the boy opened his eyes.

The shock of it instantly sent Monroe into a woge, but what happened then was even more shocking. The boy’s blue-grey eyes blackened in response, scaring him to the core and pinning him to the ground like a spear of ice through the chest.

“Wha-..”

“Fuck!”

The boy seemed unnervingly unsurprised by this whole situation as he jumped up from the couch and ran wherever his feet took him, which turned out to be the kitchen.

“Hey!” Monroe managed to regain enough self-control to scramble to his own feet and dart after him. “Wait a sec- no, not the Chardonnay, not the-“

He stepped to the side just in time as the bottle flew past him and shattered against the wall behind his back.

“I was saving that bottle!”

“Get out!”

“Well, you know, this is my house, so- hey, easy, easy”, the blutbad lifted his hands appeasingly as the boy grabbed a long, thin knife from the sink and held it out in front of him with his back firmly against the counter.

“Don’t come closer!”

“Come on, man, put down the knife. I’ve had it delivered from Japan, it’s delicate..”

“Monster!”

“Look, I -"

“Why can’t you arseholes just leave me alone!”

The boy’s eyes were burning so manically Monroe could have almost missed how badly his hand with the knife was shaking. Almost. The blutbad’s own knees were shaking, too. It could not be true. He had to be mistaken. He woged again, purposefully this time, staring into this void of darkness. It gave him the resolve to dash forward, skilfully ducking under the knife and grabbing the boy by the arms before dragging the kicking and screaming teen across the room and pinning him to the fridge. He patiently waited until his guest ran out of insults and the strength to wriggle about, trying to ignore the fact that he smelled even more delicious now that he was sweating and panting into Monroe’s face. Thankfully, the blutbad’s curiosity had somewhat dampened his hunger at this stage. After a while the boy was quiet apart from his heavy breathing and the very vocal hate in his eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you”, Monroe brought his face a little closer, as if to prove it to himself more than anything else. “And you sure as hell are not going to hurt me. You understand?”

The teen did not reply, just staring at him from underneath damp, dark brown bangs.

“If I let you go now, will you behave?”

When he received no answer he lightly squeezed the boy’s wrists, just to make his point.

“Fine.”

Monroe released him and took a couple of steps back. They were both catching their breath, both inspecting each other like in some kind of zoo, though Monroe wasn’t sure which one of them was the exotic animal in that metaphor. He had no idea what to say, so he said the first and possibly silliest thing that came to mind.

“What’s your name?”

“Huh?”

The boy wiped the hair from his dirty face, glancing at him suspiciously.

“You have a name, right?”

“What do you care?”

“What do you want me to ask you? Your favourite colour?”

“Nick.”

“Really?”

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothing. I guess I was expecting a more spectacular name. I mean, for a _Grimm_.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed at that term as his hands tightened into fists.

“The fuck is a Grimm?!”

“Oh boy.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nick gains a little more knowledge and Monroe gains something he really wasn't prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the way I'm writing Monroe and Nick in this makes sense for their younger selves. Monroe is a grumpy freshly reformed blutbad who really struggles with the inner conflict between his intellectual, nerdy side and his violent animal side (I so wish we had seen more of this in the actual series), and Nick is a lost bratty teen..

“So.. ”

Monroe inspected his opposite with an incredulity that was directed at himself as much as the kid. His mental image of a Grimm, gained from a rather extensive survey of old, dusty books during his childhood, was that of a savage knight in spiky armour with a few blutbaden fangs dangling around his neck for good measure. And at the same time, this wisp of a boy scared him more than a double axe to his chest, or maybe an arbalest, well, whatever ridiculous medieval weapon he had always imagined a Grimm to carry. On some dark and deeply instinctual level, he had no doubt.

“.. you don’t know what you are? And I don’t mean in a Lockean, psychological continuity sort of way.”

“Must be something real’ bad, since you jerks are out there to get me!”

“Hey, I’m not one of the-“

“Ah!”

Nick clutched his side, almost doubling over in pain. It was on a very different kind of instinct that the blutbad rushed forward and caught him before he slumped down on the floor.

“Alright dude, easy.. you should not be running around like this..”

The boy was limp in his arms and did not protest as Monroe nothing short of carried him back to the lounge before carefully laying him down onto the couch once again. And during all that time the blutbad was trying to understand what the fuck was _wrong_ with him. It was the perfect opportunity, a young, wounded Grimm at the tip of his claws. He could avenge his family, hell, he’d do the whole wesen community a big favour by snapping his neck. _And_ he could eat him. It was a clear win-win situation for everyone, well, _almost_ everyone. But there was also another, equally loud voice popping up in Monroe’s head, and that one, too, did not fail to offer its fair share of criticism. The Grimm was nothing but a hurt, helpless kid, what kind of abomination would–

Monroe screwed up his eyes and shook his head to get rid of both the conflicting voices. When he opened them again the boy was mustering him from underneath a cocked eyebrow.

“You’re not a _crazy_ one, are you?”

“Depends on your frame of reference”, the blutbad grumbled wearily, “now shut it and let me see.”

He pulled up the boy’s stained blue T-Shirt. The smell hit him like a dark cloud of warmth and comfort, a comfort that he could never dwell in ever again. Yet this time Monroe did not fail to notice that the jagged wound across the boy’s side had not been caused by any man-made weapon he knew, medieval or otherwise. It was shallow but long and ugly and seeping fresh blood. It must have opened again with all the movement. Monroe clenched his jaw as he pulled a fresh cotton handkerchief from his back pocket and pressed it to the cut, making Nick draw in a sharp breath.

“Who did this?”

“I forgot to ask for their IDs.”

“There was more than one?”, Monroe growled in indignation. Sure, he was thinking about finishing the Grimm off himself a minute ago, but at least he had _principles_.

“Yeah. Three. I ran, and then I hid.”

“Good thinking, hiding in a bin, they must’ve lost your scent. Lucky for you they weren’t blutbaden.”

“What?”

“Never mind. You’ll live. Well, for now, I guess. Here, you need to apply some pressure”, Monroe grabbed one of the boy’s hands and firmly pressed it to the handkerchief before reaching into his other pocket.

“What’re you doing?”

“Calling the ambulance. Which, by the way, is what I meant to do from the start, so..”, he was quick to add, awkwardly pointing to his phone. Monroe wasn’t quite sure whether Nick was aware of his undignified attempt at face-licking earlier, but, ironically, the Grimm seemed to have gained some trust in him by now and was staring at him in wide-eyed panic.

“No. Not the ambulance. Not the hospital.”

“Huh?”

“It’s the first place they’ll look. That’s what happened last time, I was in hospital and then the nurse did this evil face fur thing..”

Nick gestured wildly and the blutbad did his best not to laugh at the description.

“.. so I’m not going back there!”

Despite his young age, there was a steely note in the Grimm’s voice that left no room for discussion. Monroe rolled his eyes as he put the phone away for the second time that night, increasingly feeling like he was caught in some kind of absurd Sartre-esque theatre piece of the No Exit variety. Not that he didn’t expect to pay for all his sins sooner or later, but this wasn’t quite what he had envisioned.

“Fine. Just.. don’t move. And don’t _break_ anything else.”

He started rummaging through the boxes looking for his first aid kit. Of course, during all that time he was being pestered with a host of annoyingly irrelevant questions.

“So you just moved here?”

“Well, aren’t you quite the detective?”

“Why do you need ten clocks on the wall?”

Monroe paused for a moment to chuckle and shake his head. He never actually realised how stupid it had to appear to an outsider. Well, he had not exactly expected a lot of visitors in his new home.

“Nine, actually. One is an 18th Century French Barometer. And I’m a clockmaker.”

“Really? That’s a profession?”

“Yes. That’s a profession.”

“You haven’t told me _your_ name yet.”

“Ah, _that’s_ where my hairbrush went.”

“So what’s your name?”

“Monroe.”

“Munroe?”

“Monroe.”

“That’s not your _real_ name though, right?”

“It’s what you can call me”, Monroe growled, at the very end of his tether, finally pulling the little red case out of a box unreasonably labelled “gardening equipment”. It had been such a long and hard day introducing himself to potential local clients and pretending to be just your average guy with uncombed hair and nothing more than the socially accepted degree of nerdiness. All Monroe had wanted from his evening was that damn Chardonnay and maybe some melancholic cello practice before bed. What he had _not_ wanted from his evening was patching up some mythical but nevertheless highly irritated creature that was tempting him to abandon his new ways. Admittedly, a while ago he might have been quite excited about meeting and hunting _a real Grimm_. But excitement was not at all what he needed right now. Well, he only had himself to blame.

“Take off that mucky shirt”, he suggested as he came back to the couch, “I’ll give you a fresh one, I’ll put some disinfectant on your wounds, and then you can go.. well, wherever it is that Grimms go, I guess. And I’ll go to bed. And you won’t come back to chop off my head once you’re a grown-up. Or for any other reason, really. Deal?”

“I am a grown-up!”

“Yeah, right.”

“And I’m not gonna wear some weird plaid stuff.”

“Well, I’m fresh out of Abercrombie & Fitch vouchers. Come on. I can’t stand the stench.”

He pointed to his nose, and after ten seconds or so of fruitless pouting the boy finally conceded and removed the damn thing. Seeing him now half-naked Monroe decided that, maybe, Nick was indeed a little older than the baby face had led him to believe. That was more of a side note though. What really caught his attention and made his stomach drop were the fresh scars scattered across the Grimm’s upper body. Obviously, this wasn’t the first time he got hurt. Where did he come from? And how long had he been on the run, not knowing what was happening to him?

The blutbad shook his head as he knelt by the sofa and picked up the water bowl and the cotton wool once again. He was not going to get involved. This had always been his problem, too many confusing emotions, too much empathy with humankind. That’s why he never fit in.

“This might sting a little.”

The Grimm did not respond, just held still, apart from the occasional flinch, as Monroe got to work, dressing the wound on his abdomen first before turning his attention to the cuts on his face and neck. He was amazed that Nick let him do this, just as he was amazed by his own actions. Well, it must have been a while since someone took care of the boy. He tried to be as efficient as possible, to get as little blood on his fingers as possible and avoid touching Nick’s skin that appeared more fresh and inviting the more he cleaned it up. Who knew a Grimm would smell so damn good! That certainly wasn’t in any of the books he'd read. He had to get this over with quickly, or-

“Monroe..”

If only the kid were physically capable of keeping his mouth shut!

“.. who am I? What’s a _Grimm_? And what are _you_?”

The Blutbad gave a deep sigh as he smoothed out the plaster on Nick’s cheekbone with one long finger. He just wasn’t equipped for that kind of conversation. He had no children, and dealing with this brat reminded him why. He imagined this was probably on a par with explaining the whole birds and bees rigmarole to your offspring. Only much weirder. Besides, he was in no way an expert on the Grimm thing, unlike the other topic.

“Look, man”, he finally tried, “the weird things you’ve been seeing.. it’s all real.”

“Yeah, I figured it’s real, since it’s trying to kill my ass!”

“I get how this must be inconvenient, but the crux of the matter is, most of _us_ have never seen one of _you_ before. I never even knew if you _existed_ , or if my folks were just trying to scare the crap out of me as a kid for reading with a flashlight under my blanket instead of sleeping. I mean, not _you_ you, specifically. _Grimms_. For all _we_ know, Grimms are out there to kill _our_ ass, so..”

“We?”

“Wesen. Like me. We’re not all doing the ‘evil face fur thing’, though. There’s all kinds..”

“Wait a second.. I’m meant to _kill_ you?”

“Well, I’d much rather you didn’t, but as per all the books your ancestors were quite fond of putting axes in our skulls and all that jazz. You’re effectively the wesen world’s all-purpose bogeyman, so to speak.”

“There’s books?”

“Oh yeah. Only Grimms can see us for what we are, and boy, do they like to write about it. Not in an entirely unbiased manner, if you ask me. How come you’ve never seen a Grimm book? Where do you _come_ from, anyway?”

Monroe bit his lip, but too late. There he was, asking stupid questions. Sure, under normal circumstances, he was all for being the knowledge is power kind of guy, but the least he knew in this particular case, the better. Thankfully, the boy winced as Monroe pressed antiseptic to a nasty cut just above his eyebrow and was quiet then. When he spoke again, it was not an answer but yet another question.

“So why are you helping me?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Don’t you want to kill me, too?”

“Look, I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m not like that. I don’t hurt humans, not anymore. I don’t hurt _anyone_. I’m a vegan, for God’s sake. Though I guess one could debate whether there is a possibility that carrots have feelings, but–“

“When did you stop?”

“Huh?”

“You said ‘not anymore’. When did you stop?”

Monroe swallowed, slowly removing his hand. The Grimm’s pale grey eyes were looking straight at him, and for some strange reason the blutbad had no doubt that Nick would know if he lied. It was as if he were glowing from somewhere deep within, with the kind of light that left nothing unseen.

It was at this exact moment that Monroe became aware of a familiar aroma that was pretty high up in the top ten of his most hated smells, but right now it was like music to his nose.

“Skalengecks!”

He instantly jumped up and snuck to the window, peeking out from behind the curtain.

“What?”

“Say, Nick, were the guys who were after you wearing grey hoodies and black beanies?”

“Uh.. I think so. I wasn’t really paying attention to their-”

“And did they look like lizards to you?”

“How do you know?”

“Seems like they’re still out there looking for you.”

“ _What_?!”

Monroe turned around to witness a panicked Nick sat up straight as a pole in the middle of the couch.

“Don’t worry”, he tried to reassure the boy before he had a chance to wonder why he felt the need to reassure him. “They won’t find you here. I mark my territory.”

Maybe, it was too much information. The Grimm’s confused face certainly seemed to suggest so and Monroe was quick to elaborate, not without a hint of pride:  

“I’m a blutbad. Trust me, no wesen is going to come bother a blutbad in his home without a very good reason.”

“Oh.”

Nick mustered him for another moment with those unnaturally bright eyes of his before leaning back, seemingly satisfied.

“Guess I’ll have to move in with you for a while, then.”

“Yeah, good one”, Monroe laughed. He laughed some more, until the last chuckle dried up in his throat. He silently stood in the grave he had just dug for himself, watching in despair as the boy stretched out on the couch once again, looking inappropriately comfortable.

“So, do you have any pizza in the fridge or something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, comments are always welcome. Should I continue this? I'm not sure.. if I will, there WILL be an "Underage" warning at some point.


End file.
